Middling

No ruts, no wheels, no wagonloads;
Cleaving to the dry middle hump of the road,
Safe in the center of neglect.
A quiet middle, free of intersection
For meetings are always done at the edges.
Minds that live here fear the ditch and hedge
And define their paths by staying away
From all directions. Heaven
is not desired, and the dull middle voice
Goes to eleven.